Sweet Surrender (32 page)

He let Annalisa stew under Jessie’s unbendable gaze for a moment before he spoke. “Annalisa, I’m disappointed in you. Although you’re still very young, I expected better from you.”

“I don’t mean to make light of this, but we really do love you and wanted to protect you. As Nata said, we should have come straight to you with our concerns. I’m really very sorry.” The tears in her eyes this time seemed sincere. Also not waiting for a response, she joined Renata on the couch.

That left his mother. All eyes locked on her now, waiting. She hesitated, her eyes going from her husband to Marc, before landing on Jessie with a frown.

“Mariella!”

“David, please, both Christina and Giada told me about the rumors flying around the hospital. Not only do we know she’s marrying him for his money, which she has openly admitted to her co-workers, but she was also overheard joking about how easily she lured him into her bed. Like some—some—I don’t know, like a siren, or something. I had to do something to protect him.”

“You believed rumors, brought to you second-hand by a jilted ex-girlfriend and Giada?” David walked over to his wife of over thirty years. He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he addressed her with a stern expression. “I’m gravely disappointed in you, Mariella. This is our son—our only son—yet you risk alienating him based on gossip and some trumped-up accusations from a woman he broke up with a long time ago. Think about it, Mari. Christina Barlow is cold and aloof. She’s also a snob. Do you really think she’d be a good match for him? He had her pegged in short order and that’s the reason why it was over before it ever really started.”

“His inheritance, how can we be sure?”

“I’d happily sign a prenuptial agreement,” Jessie offered. “I don’t want his inheritance.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Jess,” Marc growled. “I won’t allow it.”

“I really don’t mind, and if it will convince everyone—”

“You have nothing to prove,
mio tesoro.
”

“But I do. I’ve heard those rumors too, often said quite openly in the hallways at the hospital. The cruel whispers turned vicious when I was promoted, as if you pulled some strings for me because we were sleeping together.” She flushed suddenly, clearly realizing what she’d just admitted, but still she went on. “Nearly everyone believes I’m motivated by money for some reason. They call me a gold digger or a slut behind my back. I hear it. With a pre-nup, at least I won’t have those awful labels hanging over my head anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Jessie? Furthermore, with all that crap going on, why do you insist on staying on there?”

She shook her head, a clear indication she wasn’t about to get into it here.

His angry gaze landed on his mother. “Even if I agreed to a pre-nup, which I haven’t, the contents would be confidential. My portion is not enough for a corporate takeover, or whatever disreputable scheme you think Jessie has in mind. You don’t know her; what’s more, you haven’t tried to get to know her. Trust me when I say she doesn’t want my money; heaven knows I’ve tried to get her to use some of it, but it’s like pulling teeth. She also doesn’t have a mean-spirited or spiteful bone in her body, unlike some people in this room. Bottom line, mother, this isn’t your affair.”

Mariella recoiled visibly. Marc went on unfazed.

“I expect this spiteful behavior to end here and now. There will be a change in the reception Jessie receives from the women in this family, or we won’t be back. She’s done nothing to deserve your hostility and I won’t put up with it for another minute. Do you understand?”

“I’ll make absolutely sure that she understands, son.” His father spoke to him, though his eyes were on his wife. “If it requires that she doesn’t sit down for a week, so be it.”

“David,” his mother gasped.

His father’s stern expression matched the ominous tone of his pronouncement. His resolve over ending the strife in his family sounded as determined as Marc’s, but he and Jessie didn’t stick around to find out if he followed through.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was dark when she awoke. A little disoriented, she rolled to her side, squinting at the bedside clock. It was 5:30 p.m.; she’d slept away half the afternoon. Two back-to-back night shifts due to three nurses out with the flu, the engagement party, and the scene with Marc’s family had left her emotionally drained.

Jessie had fallen asleep on the short drive home, only rousing enough to climb out of the truck and make it up the stairs to their bedroom thanks to his strong arm. She smiled as she remembered how he’d sweetly tucked her into bed for a nap.

“I know this has been a stressful day, baby, but you’re awfully sluggish. It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon and you’re wiped. I think you need to make an appointment with your primary care physician. You’re pale. You could be anemic.”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “Let me power nap for thirty minutes and I’ll be fresh as a daisy.”

“Take an hour, or two. I’ll wake you before dinner in time for us to talk.”

Jessie grimaced. She didn’t want to talk. Their talks as of late seemed to end one way, with her over his lap. That wasn’t entirely a bad thing, ending in cuddles, kisses, and most often making love, but the lectures and heavy conversations that often went along with it were beginning to wear.

Pushing back the covers, she looked around the dark room. Where had the sun gone? Padding to the window, she gazed out at the enveloping grayness and the large fluffy flakes falling from the darkening sky. During the course of her nap, two or three inches of snow had accumulated on the ground. Hugging herself and chafing her arms against the chill in the room, she was sorry she’d ever left her warm cocoon of blankets. Bu she couldn’t stay in bed, not when she and Marc had a rare evening off together. She grabbed her sweater, slipping her feet into her fuzzy slippers as she put it on, and went to find Marc.

As she walked down the stairs, a mouthwatering spicy scent assailed her senses and made her stomach growl. “Marc?”

Silence was her answer.

Making her way to the kitchen, she found a pot of vegetable beef soup simmering on the stove and a loaf of bread rising in the oven. Another thing that made her man perfect—he could cook, and didn’t mind doing it.

The back door opened suddenly and a snow-covered Marc came in carrying an armload of logs. He stomped his feet free of snow and set down his burden as he stripped off his heavy coat.

“Hey, baby, how’s my daisy? Feeling better?”

She vaguely remembered the ‘fresh as a daisy’ line before she passed out. He was so sweet, and she smiled sleepily at him.

“I feel a lot better and dinner smells great. I’m starved.”

“The bread has another thirty minutes to rise. Come into the den with me. I have a fire going. While we snuggle in front of it, you can warm up my hands for me.”

Following him out of the kitchen, she teasingly warned, “Don’t you dare put your icicle paws on my belly, buster.”

“Never,” he vowed as unloaded the firewood into the metal basket on the hearth. Dusting off the dirt and bark, he pulled her to him, his cold hands sliding around to her bottom. “I have other fun places in mind.”

“Don’t you dare,” she squealed as she tried to wiggle out of his arms. She screeched when he pressed his ice-cold nose against her neck, laughing when his warm tongue licked a path to her ear. He didn’t go any further, pulling her down onto the plush rug in front of the hearth instead. With his back against an ottoman, he stretched out his legs and settled her between them. As she leaned back against his chest, he rested his cheek atop her soft hair and cuddled her close.

Together, they stared into the blaze as a comfortable silence settled around them. Jessie, who had always dreamed of a fireplace in her home, was mesmerized by the flickering flames. She watched as the bright orange early on changed to red as the embers began to glow, later becoming a pretty blue indicating the highest heat. The roaring fire crackled and popped intermittently, the heat lulling her into a relaxed state, while the smell of the burning wood made her think of childhood bonfires and camping trips before it all went sour at home. Refusing to let ugly thoughts spoil their mood, she pushed them out of her mind and cuddled more deeply into Marc’s hold.

He must have felt her tense because he asked softly, “Everything okay?”

“Only a random bad thought. You’ve already chased it away, handsome.”

“I wish I could chase them all away, especially today’s drama and all the crap with my family.”

“That’s not on you, Marc.”

“I should have believed you from the beginning, Jess. That’s on me and I’m ticked that I had my head in the sand and let it go on around me.”

“I know how difficult it is to see the bad in people that are close to us.” Pushing up, she twisted in his arms until she could see his troubled face. “I didn’t believe my dad was capable of doing what he did. I loved him, and he said he loved me. Then out of nowhere, he left us. It was awful, Marc. Until the day the letter came, mom didn’t believe he was gone for good. She had her head in the sand for fifteen years and she never gave up hope, like he was lost or missing in action, or away at war or something.”

“What letter?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” She curled in her lips, frowning in concentration. “I told Stacy and I thought—Huh. Maybe I suppressed it. It’s so awful.”

“Tell me now.”

“My father sent my mother a letter asking for a divorce so he could marry his girlfriend and be a family with his two school-age daughters. No inquiring or message to me, of course.” She thought she’d buried the pain-filled emotions under her anger and resentment, but she was wrong, the hurt palpable as she told him the whole story.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her back, turning her so her head was in the crook of his arm and they could see each other while they talked. As he held her, a tear escaped and she wiped it away, angry that her father still had such a hold on her.

His arms curled around her, holding on as more tears fell. Between her soft cries, Jessie heard him mutter, “Selfish prick.” Shaking her head, she wiped her tears on her sleeve. “I promised I wouldn’t let him do this to me ever again, but the asshole keeps winning.”

He kissed the top of her head and reached for a box of tissues on the end table when the doorbell rang.

“Who can that be?” he wondered aloud. “There’s a blizzard warning out tonight, for Pete’s sake.” Lifting her off his lap, he urged her to stay put while he went to answer the door. Jessie moved into the warm spot he left, staring sadly into the fire. Her father, or the memory of him, had managed to ruin this romantic moment with Marc too. General Asshole had struck again.

“Jessica!” Her mother’s frantic cry had her jumping up.

“Mom?” She rushed toward the entryway unable to imagine what brought her mother out in the middle of a snowstorm. Something must be seriously wrong. “I’m here,” she called as she entered the foyer where Marc was helping Lily out of her coat. Immediately, she noticed her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from tears, her cheeks red and streaked from crying. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt?”

“It’s your father.”

Jess stiffened, her eyes meeting Marc’s over Lily’s quivering shoulders. “What did the son of a bitch do now? Hasn’t he done enough to torment us both?”

“He came by the house today with papers to sign.”

“Papers? Oh, God, mom, please tell me you didn’t sign anything.”

Her shoulders stiffened as she frowned at her only daughter. “Although I might not have a college degree, I’m not an idiot, Jessica Lynn.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you were, but you know how you get all twisted up when it comes to him.” Although she was taller than Jessie by a few inches, she seemed smaller, more frail somehow. She was worn down, her hair was limp and dull, and she’d lost weight.

“He’s been pestering you about this for a while, hasn’t he?”

She nodded, looking down at the floor sadly.

“You’re soaked and need to get out of those wet shoes and socks,” Marc stated wisely. “Why don’t you find her something dry to wear, Jess. Then come in by the fire and warm up.”

Jessie glanced down and frowned. The denim of her mother’s jeans had turned dark up to mid-calf and she was wearing tennis shoes instead of her boots. She went to her side, barely refraining from scolding her for coming out in this weather and not being dressed for it. She shook herself mentally; the role reversal had been going on since she was thirteen. It was his fault; she could lay almost everything that had turned to shit in their lives at the bastard’s feet.

“While I take mom upstairs to change, maybe you could dish up some of that soup if it’s done, Marc. That should warm her up.”

“I’m not hungry, Jessie,” her mother said as her thin shoulders shuddered beneath her hands.

“You’re chilled to the bone, mom. Consider it medicine. It will warm you up quicker than anything.”

“I agree, ma’am,” Marc said politely. “In fact, I’m making it doctor’s orders—one bowl of hot soup, coming right up.”

Leaning against her, Lily agreed, giving up the fight early as usual, and allowed Jessie to lead her upstairs.

A short time later, the trio sat around the kitchen table, sipping the tasty soup. The bread was still baking, but Marc had sliced some crusty Italian bread left over from last night’s pasta. He grabbed Jessie’s free hand to catch her attention. Her eyes moved from the sad woman seated across from her and met his warm gaze. He nodded to her own bowl and ordered, “Eat.”

Her mom nodded in agreement. “Yes, you have to try it, baby girl. I didn’t think I was hungry until I tasted it. Your man’s a fine cook.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Swanson. It’s just kitchen sink soup.”

“I know that recipe. Throw in everything
except
the kitchen sink, right?” She smiled. Jessie noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes, though as time went by she seemed increasingly more at ease, warming up from the cold, to the meal, and to Marc. “I’ve made it a time or two myself. It’s delicious, Marc, and please, call me Lily. If you’re uncomfortable with that, call me Ms. Huffman.”